


A Heart is a Heavy Burden

by tenshiya



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: F/M, Pre Release
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-06 03:03:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4205541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenshiya/pseuds/tenshiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heaven with eyes bright red; everyday my eyes are older, I grow a bit closer to you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of works centered around Marx and Kamui's relationship.

The others don’t know, though whether it’s because of sheer neglect or the forceful desire to remain ignorant is unclear to her. Camilla, however, is a watchful one, and much to their dismay the warm looks shared across the dinner table and his laughter matching hers had not gone completely unnoticed.

To be fair, however, it’s not entirely her watchful eye that leads her to becoming the bearer of all secrets shared between the two. No, it’s when she makes her way to Marx’s room that she begins her descent into the role of a _“third wheel in the shadows,”_ so to speak – a bundle of peace treaties and bowl of fresh fruit in her hands, because Naga knows how often he forgets to eat. She neglects to knock – though thinking back, perhaps she should have. But how could she have known? They‘re siblings after all, and years of living under a roof of dozens had dispelled any, and all notions of privacy she might have had long ago.

It’s precisely for this reason that Camilla happens to walk in on them in what was by far the most intimate moment she’s seen between the two – among years of tangled pale hair accompanying lazy afternoon naps, among spilled tears driven by a neglectful father, among fingers laced together after falls on the battlefield – among anything, and everything in between. 

She hears the low rumbling of laughter first, surely a response to the quips of Kamui’s quick-witted tongue. The image of the little princess’ small backside follows shortly afterwards, joined by the thick, wafting scent of menthol. She was kneading the side of Marx’s calf in feathery movements, tracing the lines of a particularly nasty spot of marred skin. It’d been over a decade since he’d acquired the scar, but the twisted flesh looked as if it were from a recent skirmish.The wound was not talked about much, but the rare times it was mentioned had led her to believe that it was an accident induced by one of father’s quests for glory – something about him sending the former princeling out onto the battlefield far sooner than what his limited training experience had permitted then.

The two did not seem to notice her, allowing Camilla to witness her brother’s careful hands brushing back Kamui’s hair. Only does he draw himself away when she seems to have pressed a little too forceful, letting out a quiet hiss of pain. Looking up at him, she murmurs what sounds like an apology, and then resumes her kneading. It’s almost as if they had done this before – as if they have done this quite often, in fact – and for the first time in her life, Camilla feels out of place among them.

Having seen enough, she slips away from the room, leaving behind as little evidence of her arrival as they, their affection. But later that night, when she is finally able to catch a moment of her brother’s time, she finds that she cannot help but smile at the memory.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s frowning like most days, but something about his expression makes her heart wrench.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Kamui has to decide which side she'll join.

Her sister’s hair was waxen gold gliding against her smooth skin, fingers winding and weaving fallen daffodils among the strands. It was one of the many beauties of Elise, and all throughout the kingdom the townsmen recognized her as the princess with sunflower hair. 

She could not help but swell with pride whenever she heard such praise. 

_“Hold still,”_ Kamui had said, although she knew that it was impossible with hands twisting her pigtails to and fro. _“Just be patient; I’ll be done before you know it.”_

But Elise was not patient. She was excited eyes and icing on a hot cake and presents a day before her birthday, but never patient. 

Even now, legs quivering and desperate body leaning against her staff, she is not patient. The very opposite of it, in fact, and as she cries for her sister to come back to her, to the family, Kamui wishes that she could smooth out the wrinkles of her dress until her voice grew tired and her feet stopped stirring – just like that day in the field, braided hair a halo in the sun. 

Unable to bear the twisting anguish of her baby sister, Kamui looks to Leon for comfort – cool, unflappable Leon – the middle child of the family. He was always so diligent; even when she begged, and begged, and begged for him to play with her, he would respond by pushing his nose deeper into whatever book of spells he was reading that day. Sometimes though, when his voice was thick with fatigue and his lids were low and wilting, she would manage to pry a smile out of him. And on those days, if she were especially lucky, he’d take her out to the side of the castle’s thorny garden and show her his newest magic tricks. Not the kind with cards, or rabbits, or fancy hats, but _real_ magic – magic that sent leaves dancing along the wind like puppets on a string, sparked flames across the sky like dazzling displays of fireworks. 

_“Again,”_ she’d beg all wide-eyed and breathless, until the cool air of the night sent them sneaking past the reproachful eyes of the maids. 

Today, however, there is no magic between his fingertips, no composure in his eyes. Instead, he looks stern. Angry, even – his hands clenching and unclenching in a steady rhythm of annoyance. Not even when she’d singed his left brow during an incantation had she seen him this way, and even then it seemed like he would have never forgiven her. 

There was only one thing Kamui knew to do when her brother was cross with her, and just like the time he had cursed her in all his single-browed glory, she turns to Camilla for protection. By now it was an automatic response to any sort of threat – kind of like an instinctive reflex, so to speak. Second nature. 

From her recollection, the jabs of Nohr’s nobility were the first to prompt the habit. They were a viscous, power hungry lot, and while most of the adults knew better than to openly mock her, their children had no such reservations. 

Eric Squallor, first-born son of the Marquess of Nohr, was the first to point out her lack of shoes. Pointed and laughed, he did – his pinched mouth loud and wide and making it certain that all the others were in on the fun as well. 

Kamui had responded by doing what any other sensible child would in her situation – jamming a spit-slobbered thumb right in his ear, pulling it out sticky and smelling like rotten pork, and smearing the gunk on his cheek. Her friends had laughed, Father had punished, and Camilla had held her as she wept – cheek warm against her breast and the smoky scent of lavender subduing her snivels. 

_“Hush now little one,”_ Camilla had crooned, honeyed words lulling her softly to sleep. 

That night, she dreamed of morning glories and sweet lilac candies melting on her tongue. 

There would be no such dreams tonight, however – especially not after having witnessed the look on her older sister’s face, an ugly mesh of despair and desire. Kamui wishes to be the one to console her this time, to pull her close and smooth away the creases from temple to temple. One step closer, however, and she would run the risk of giving her, them, false hope. Not until she knew for certain would she dare to move so much as an inch from her spot. Not even a finger. 

But of course, Kamui had never made an important decision without consulting Marx first. He was the strongest and most steadfast of her siblings, but surprisingly the gentlest as well, and for that she adored him. 

She had told him precisely that one day – leaned in all close and bashful. Naturally he had flustered, palm on her forehead and asking if the summer heat was making her feel dizzy. 

_“I adore you,”_ she’d simply repeated, leaning against his broad shoulder and letting her fingers brush over the little bursts of oranges and yellows and pinks she’d weaved into his hair. 

He had not questioned her the second time, instead meeting the rising warmth of skin on skin with a sort of quiet countenance. 

In this gentle breeze she looks to him, all white knight in shining armor on his sleek-coated _destrier_. He’s frowning like most days, but something about his expression makes her heart wrench. 

It’s the furrowed brow, she thinks to herself. That’s it. 

Or maybe it’s the slight tremble of his chin, the way he holds his head low, as if he’s begging for her acceptance. 

_“Show no weakness,”_ she had once heard father tell him. 

She wonders how much trouble she would have caused had he been here to see his son now. 

Kamui closes her eyes. She breathes, and then looks at the sharp reds and whites against the warmth of purples and blacks. 

“Come home, little princess.” Marx says, voice soft but steady. 

She takes a step. 


End file.
